Before the Storm
by A Humorous Elliptic
Summary: In the shadows of Mushroom City's underworld, a web of wheels-within wheels conspiracies, blackmail and betrayal with global consequences is spun. At the center is the dangerous enigma known as Master Hand - or is he just another puppet?
1. Prelude

**-Prelude-**

A faint hum crept through the serene crystalline cavern, bouncing and echoing off translucent, silently sparkling walls. It emanated from the cavern's sole inhabitant, panting gently in the centre of the space, bathed in faint blue light. A film of sweat was beginning to freeze on his pinkish skin, but he paid it no attention, vigilant for some unseen threat. He swept the tranquil cave with wary eyes from his floating vantage point, fear pulsating through his veins. The attack he had been anticipating hadn't come, and the drain on his energy from constantly maintaining his mental defenses was crippling. His body protested against the effort, and slowly he began to withdraw, landing onto the ground painfully vulnerable.

His vision was interrupted by a burst of static, accompanied by acute, freezing pain in his mind. Frantically attempting to raise his defenses, he was constantly shut down. Another burst. The pain mounted as a sub-zero lance penetrated deep into his consciousness. Delirious with agony, he collided with the cavern ceiling and floor nearly simultaneously. Finishing the attack, a barely perceptible sphere of shadow careened towards him, scrambling his thoughts and memory and sending him directly into unconsciousness.

The attack's originator landed nimbly beside the fallen psychic, allowing himself a thin smile of satisfaction at the lifeless form of his progenitor. With immense satisfaction, he raised a lavender fist, and drove it directly into the chest of his prey. As the unconscious esper took his final breaths, his murderer reached through his feeble ribs and crushed his heart. Blood splattered the formerly immaculate crystal of the cavern, as the psychic was utterly destroyed. His murderer looked at his bloodied hand with some degree of satisfaction, and turned away from his victim, walking out into the blizzard.


	2. Chapter 1 : Beginning of the Nightmare

**Author's note:**

This is my first fan fiction, and takes place in an amalgamated world consisting of significant locales from many of the games that make up the Smash Bros. series' character and stage roster. Critique is greatly encouraged, as I need all the feedback I can get. Finally, if anyone bothers to read this story, don't forget to look for the references.

**August 15**

**3:50 PM**

**Mushroom City, UMP**

It was an entirely unremarkable day, rain-drenched and freezing, which was only to be expected of the gloomy weather patterns that had reigned supreme over the last week.. The frantic pace of life in Mushroom City was unaffected by the weather, and just like any other day executives rushed through the concrete maze, middle-aged Toad housewives picked up children in unnecessarily large 4x4s, politicians were hard at work not doing their jobs, and gang members eliminated each other over petty disputes. In one painfully modern, sterile office building, a grey-haired Hylian watched his reflection in wet, tinted glass, eyes staring forward, deep in thought.

Calculating.

Plotting.

"They're coming."

The clipped voice resonated through the darkened office, demanding response.

"Huh?"

"The conference room, Keira. See to it that our guests feel at home."

There was a quiet rustle as the woman named Keira stood and exited the room, her slightly too-large shoes making unmistakably expensive clacks on the polished floor.

The observer by the window showed the slightest shadow of a smirk as he saw the first car pull up in the building's rain-covered courtyard.

As if on cue, a silver state-of-the-art sport sedan, aerodynamically curved and instantly recognisable, rolled onto the weathered cobblestones. A chauffeur opened the back door, bowing in deference to the diminutive, sinister pink puffball that exited the sleek sedan.

Jiao "Jiggles" Puamoto. Oyabun of the Kurosawa Yakuza.

The observer unwittingly began ticking off mental boxes. He had a relatively anonymous appearance, but once you knew who he was-what he was, his face would be etched into your mind forever. His hair was short and greying, clearly showing his pointed, Hylian ears. His face wasn't as lined as it could have been for his age, but wrinkles were making their inevitable marks on his face. He smiled, a harsh, predatorial smirk.

Everything was going to plan.

Keira swept her eyes around the gloomily lit conference room. The illumination from the windows was unfortunately minimal, relegated to dim bluish light due to the storm. The skyscraper was an ultra-modern spire of glass and steel, built just a few years ago with furnishings to match. The conference room was uniquely designed, notable for its slanting walls, ergonomic seats and the spectacular view of the Mushroom City skyline from the window that served as a glass wall. However, the view itself was undoubtedly spoiled by the weather, with fog and rain obscuring what would ordinarily be a breathtaking panorama.

The stage was set. All that was needed now were the puppets.

The calculating Hylian looked at his watch: 4:02. Only one party was left unaccounted for. Lateness was not something he cared for, and resolved to subject the trailing party to his full…displeasure.

But that would happily not be necessary, as the sixth and final car was making its way to the parking lot. 4:03. Acceptable. This one was rather ostentatious, a seventies sedan with a gold-plated grille and rims of similar colour. It would not be a stretch of the imagination for the vehicle to be outfitted with hydraulic suspension or _fuzzy dice_ either. The silent observer shuddered. Clearly this vehicle belonged to K.B, the leader of the Dreamland Island based K-Crew. He personally regarded them as an insult to society. Their presence was merely by the request of the higher powers. The Hylian brushed off an invisible piece of dirt from his charcoal suit with a white-gloved hand and walked out of the room, a carefully measured expression on his middle-aged face.

The four crime lords of Mushroom City, the head of a mercenary company and the desperate-for-funds leader of a terrorist cell. Check. Keira smirked coldly, confident that they would not leave this room nearly so tough.

"Please seat yourselves... Thank you."

Keira' face was a mask of professionalism and politeness.

The aged Hylian entered the conference room, eyeing the six victims sitting in front of him.

Don Salvatore Pianta, head of the Pianta crime family. Nabooru al-Gerud, the leader of The Sages' Tears, a terrorist group (although they believed themselves to be freedom fighters) turning to the UMP's underworld for funding, Jiggles Puamoto, the Oyabun of the Kurosawa Yakuza. Victor Linebeck, the notoriously cowardly representative of Hylian criminal interests in Mushroom City. K.B, the repulsive ghetto "gangsta" responsible for the abominable K-Crew, and Ike Grelovich, the head of a mercenary company whose services had been used by all of the other victims at one point in time. Everything was going more or less to plan. It had begun.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I have gathered you here today to witness the inception of an innovative and remarkable new enterprise. You have all been given the privilege of participation. I hope that our venture can be most profitable. I'm sure that all of you are familiar with each other, whether that be from a previous partnership, or even a hostility. That is irrelevant. All that matters is that you listen to what I have to say. But enough of this. This meeting was called on short notice, and your patience grows thin, am I correct? I suspect you are eager to find out exactly what it is I am proposing. For the purposes of this project, you will address me as Master Hand."

A flicker of repulsion was visible on Nabooru's face. Master Hand continued, oblivious.

"The proposition I have for you is…rather one-sided, I'm afraid. This tournament…"

K.B interrupted. "Tournament?"

"Yes, a _tournament_. I assume you know the meaning of the word?"

K.B snarled, displaying an abnormally large mouth.

A strong negative aura had built up in the room. Master Hand wasn't trying to coax his victims into anything, it seemed, preferring instead to beat them over the head with his proposal.

"Each of you will enter one fighter into this tournament. The fights themselves will be bet on through the Internet."

Another interruption, this time from Pianta.

"Fighter? Is this that new karate reality show? If that's it I'm out. Thanks for wasting my time."

"Oh, there's plenty of incentive to participate, Mr. Pianta. You, for instance, should be fascinated to know that I have been keeping tabs on a certain Snowpeak bank account for some time. I trust it would be redundant to state the first digits of the combination for its safe? One, seven, four, seven, four; eight…care for me to continue?"

The Don made a brief choking noise.

"I, in fact have a comprehensive history of all of your respective crimes; assets, et cetera. If you do not submit a fighter to this little game of mine, you will be completely and totally exposed."

The grandiose fluff hit Pianta and KB like an ICBM. The other victim's reactions were just a negative, albeit more subtle.

Ike Grelovich looked on in disgust, motioning to leave the meeting.

"I am not a criminal. This does not affect me."

Master Hand scanned the mercenary coldly before responding.

"Your defiance amuses me, Mr. Grelovich. However, you fail to consider that my influence extends far beyond mere records and papers. With one command, one phone call, I can grind your world to dust."

Ike's clear blue eyes let loose a stare directly at Master Hand, clearly unimpressed.

"It will require more than a few numbers to beat me into submission. I have led armies and faced unimaginable hardships. What could you possibly use to extort me?"

Barely concealing a smirk, Master Hand delivered his response.

"Numbers alone may not hold any meaning for you, but perhaps a date may prove more…useful. October 15th, 2006, in particular."

Gritting his teeth, Ike tilted his head downwards.

"I understand."

Master Hand cleared his throat and produced a wafer-thin laptop from a folder.

"Each of you will select an individual you wish to enter into the competition. While it is preferable to select them immediately, hesitant parties may contact me after this meeting."

With a flourish, he motioned towards K.B.

The heavily adorned gangster nodded in comprehension and bounced off his seat, waddling up to the laptop - and typed a name.

Smirking, he motioned to the next victim. Clearly his choice was one that would benefit him.

Once again, a flicker ran across Nabooru's face. This time, however, it was not repulsion. It was contempt.

_How could someone sign away a life with so much pleasure?_

Eventually, all but Victor Linebeck had decided which of their organization to enter.

Linebeck himself looked like he was about to have a heart attack, shaking and sweating on an unprecedented scale. Master Hand was more than a little amused by the gangster's loss of control, and elegantly repossessed the laptop from the Hylian's shaking hands.

Clearing his throat once more, he turned to the victims and was not surprised to see a variety of emotions reflected. Hate, fear, defiance, resignation, smugness.

Just as _they_ had predicted.

"This meeting is over. However, I wish to speak with Mr. Grelovich, Mr. Linebeck and Ms. Al-Gerud."

The shuffling of clothes filled the room as the crime lords left, a sight constantly reprised in boardrooms across the city every minute of every working day. But this was no sales pitch, no meaningless slide show.

When the Don had closed the door behind him, Master Hand faced Linebeck.

The Hylian produced a small, black pistol from his suit jacket, whipping into a firing stance. The pistol fired twice, each shot surprisingly quiet, surprisingly bloodless; Nabooru and Ike slumping in their chairs. He calmly set the 179B down on the polished conference table, the sinister black metal catching the reflection of the cold, blue afternoon.

"We're done here, Mr. Linebeck. Remember to contact me. Here's my card."

Master Hand gestured to the lifeless forms slumped in their chairs.

"You wouldn't want to get me angry. Keira, take them to the storeroom."

"Can I…"

"No, Keira."

Linebeck backed away towards the door, his pants steadily darkening. Master Hand smiled, a terrifying, cold smile on lips that looked as if they were already dead.

"Go ahead; no-one's going to shoot you."

Linebeck ran out the door, a petrified whimper escaping from his lips.

"I can't believe that the head of the Hylian's syndicate could be reduced to jelly so easily."

"It has only just begun, Keira. In three month's time, the entire underworld will be ours to shape as we see fit." The fact that he was lying through his teeth didn't bother Master Hand, all that mattered was the plan. And that was proceeding perfectly.

**Linebeck Estate – 7:25 PM**

The decision was not an easy one to make. It would be so easy, so very easy, for the NEAD to take down this…this Master Hand. And if that happened, it would be a simple enough matter for them to trace the entered fighters – or what was left of them – to their respective syndicates. That was not a risk Victor Linebeck was willing to take. Hell, if he so much as saw a black helicopter he had a heart attack. If the risk of sudden exposure was hanging over his head- well – he could imagine the consequences. On the other hand, if he decided to hire an unaffiliated assassin or mercenary to compete, the self-titled Master Hand may not find it to his liking, and use his unholy amount of information to completely destroy the Syndicate. Where the hell did he get it, anyway? A delicate matter, but a simple enough choice: the certain wrath of the NEAD or the probable retaliation of Master Hand?

Only one way to find out…

A brassy fanfare broke the relative peace of the night like an armour piercing bullet. The phone from which the music originated from was hastily removed from a drawer amid muttered curses. The voice on the other end of the line was instantly familiar, an accented panic which spoke volumes about its' owners current and only emotional state.

"Oh…er…hello?"

The voice coughed, and attempted to regain some composure.

"There's a very important matter that requires some...ahem...seeing to. I apologise for the short notice but…well…you see...it's rather…complicated and…"

Victor's inane mumbling was cut short by a professional, assertive female voice.

"Hello, Victor."

"I'm in need of your services once more, Ms. Aran."

"How much?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Who is it and how much are you willing to pay?"

On the other end of the line, Victor Linebeck panicked once more.

"About…about…"

For a few seconds, frenzied panting was all that could be heard.

"Eight hundred thousand."

"For how many targets?"

"Just the one."

The assassin let a small smirk come to her mouth.

"It's quite tempting, I'll give you that. Where, specifically is this?"

"Mushroom City. It's on Phil…"

"No. You can't give out any more details on the phone."

"So this means you'll accept the offer?"

"Only because it's you, Victor. Contact me later with target information and the first half of the money. I know if I ask for it to be wired now; you'll come up with some fantastic excuse. I'll save you the trouble. Just make sure it isn't too explosive, like that smuggling incident last year."

"Certainly. Er…goodbye?"

The phone clicked off.

It was normally uncharacteristic for the assassin to make such impromptu deals; contracts usually required a month or more of negotiations, client assessments, et cetera. But the assassin had a long-standing relationship with the spineless Linebeck, to the point where jobs like this were almost bi-monthly fixtures. Besides, this was just another underworld hit, nothing special. The suit could stay in storage, and there were no international political alliances, sentient supercomputers or heavily armed Pirates to worry about.

In the brooding darkness of the night, Samus Aran sighed to herself, feeling she was trying too hard to justify her response.

Victor Linebeck, for once, had set a trap that wasn't going to backfire, at least, not yet.

Satisfied with this deception, he picked up the vintage rotary phone on his desk, an antique with some history he was quite proud of, and dialled the number that Master Hand had provided.

The ergonomic silver phone rang, catching Keira Hanne's attention. The mastermind had left the office some hours ago, leaving her with instructions to stay until either Linebeck entered his fighter, or the faceless clock on the right wall reached 9 A.M, in which case, she was to phone one of their contacts in the NEAD.

"Good evening, Mr. Linebeck. Shall we proceed with the registration?"

"That would be ah...yes. You will be able to find her on the 1AM flight to Mushroom City, and failing that, in Hotel Maria on Phillips Boulevard."

"Perfect, Mr. Linebeck. Now may I ask as to your entrant's name?"

"Samus Aran."

Keira stifled a giggle.

"_The_ Samus Aran? Well, although I have my doubts about her ties to your organisation, the rules state that a syndicate boss may enter anyone that he can supply reliably. Goodnight, Mr. Linebeck."

On the other end of the line, Linebeck released a long-held breath, and withdrew an inhaler.

**Mushroom City International Airport – 11:55 PM**

Despite the hour, Mushroom International Airport was as busy as it ever had been. Businessmen and returning holidaymakers flooded the terminal, shuffling towards the baggage carousels like a zombified horde. Blue-shirted guards stood scattered around the crowds, scanning for anyone suspicious, unattended baggage or a coffee machine. Keira scanned the crowd, searching for a glimpse of Aran's distinctive visage. She checked her slim black glasses case. Yes, everything was there.

There!

Suddenly, Keira' frame jolted into motion, entering the shuffling disembarking crowd. Aran was around three people ahead of Keira. So far, so good. Aran wasn't stupid, as her impressive record clearly showed. Keira would have to take her by surprise. Her chance would come as soon as she was alone. Keira had, naturally, arranged for that. And she could not wait.

"Excuse me, madam. There is a slight problem with your luggage."

Samus was not exactly surprised. Employers had used opportunities such as these to give her necessary equipment and information before. This guard was most likely in the employ of Linebeck. And if he wasn't, well, she always had a garrotte.

"What is this problem?"

"You seem to be carrying a prohibited item, madam. If you would follow me we will be able to sort this out quite easily."

"Certainly."

Keira smirked. This was going to be easier than she expected. Passing two middle-aged, arguing Goron tourists drawing a crowd in front of a duty-free store, Hanne headed for the security office. Her hand calmly withdrew a stiletto, hiding the slim blade in one of her oversized, puffy sleeves.  
The door was unlocked. Such ignorance…

One airport guard was sitting with his back to her, typing up what was most likely a hopelessly dull security report. Removing the blade, Keira silently moved behind the Zora. Keira hadn't seen many of them around here in permanent jobs, but recently there had been quite an immigration boom to Mushroom City. Regardless…

The guard didn't see, or hear the knife until one stab sent it through his neck, blood spraying in a brutally cinematic display. Keira twisted the knife as she withdrew it from the guard, his body crumpling unceremoniously over his desk.

Keira bent down to detach the Zora's fins from the swivel chair, before shoving his corpse under the desk and dragging a recycling bin in front of it. The concealment of the body wouldn't last long, especially with the delicious arterial spray on the walls of the cubicle, but it would last long enough.

It seemed that the guard was not in the employ of Linebeck. That was of no consequence, as he was now already lying on the floor of the office temporarily doubling as an interrogation room, with his throat crumpled by Samus' garrotte.

He had almost gotten around to shooting.

'_Getting slow...'_

There was no other reason that she would have been apprehended by security-she wasn't actually carrying any luggage, after all: unless…

Samus reached for the guard's holster, drawing out his NES. The NES, sometimes called the Zapper due to its unique design and distinct report, was the standard service pistol of the Mushroom police forces and military.

At that moment, however, the indicator on the side of the door flashed green. Someone was coming.

Samus dove under a desk, the pistol darting in front of her like an extension of her body. She resolved to only shoot if it was absolutely necessary. No point in alerting the whole airport for no reason.

Samus' attention was so uncharacteristically diverted that she didn't see Keira enter through the other office door. She drew out a miniscule syringe, eyeing the assassin. Samus caught a glimpse of the solitary, smirking figure in her peripheral vision, leaning over onto her side with the NES in front of her.

Keira leapt.

The desk, computer and dozens of crumpled paper files in varying stages of yellowing were sent flying as the Samus' assailant lunged for her prey. Hanne grabbed Samus' gun arm, the NES firing into the ceiling harmlessly. Well, mostly harmlessly; the whole airport would have been alerted by now. Samus struggled with her assailant, landing a punch to the crazed woman's nose. A satisfying _crack _was all too apparent to her ears as she leapt to her feet and aimed the Zapper with both hands.

As Keira was attempting to recover, Samus squeezed the trigger, sending a single .40 bullet directly into Keira' abdomen at point-blank range. Blood sprayed from the wound as Samus' assailant was sent into a screaming heap on the steadily reddening floor.

She barged through the doorway, heading for the elevator on the other side of the office. With luck, her hunter would still be recovering by the time she was heading to the carpark. But luck was never on her side. Sirens could be heard, growing ever closer. The airport security team here, as with all law enforcement in the UMP, was notorious for never using less-than-lethal means of incapacitation.

Snarling, Keira chased after the blonde assassin, barely able to walk or see, vision clouded by pain and fury, with a blood trail unfurling behind her like demonic breadcrumbs.

She cursed herself for being so careless, taking the serial-killer option over that of the professional. Aran was almost within grabbing distance. Keira' hand dashed to the pocket in her suit, withdrawing the syringe she had previously attempted to use on the assassin. Sensing her chance, Keira lunged forward, burying the syringe into the back of her target's neck. She went down almost instantly, collapsing into a desk.

As Keira' vision cleared, she decided to take a short rest on a swivel chair.

Unprofessional, but she _had _been shot and beaten.

Click.

A pistol's muzzle was pressed up against her skull, the safety clicking off. Airport security, no doubt.

Easy enough to take care of. The only thing that puzzled her was that Master Hand had the security team bribed, they were ordered to aid her escape, not put her at gunpoint. They knew that she had come to abduct Aran, so why would they do this? Unless…

Keira looked at the woman she had sedated.

Only it wasn't a woman.

"Oh…"

1…

G…

B1...

B2...

The elevator doors smoothly slid open at the level of the underground car park. Samus whipped the NES Zapper around, scanning the open space. No-one. Plenty of unattended vehicles, but not a soul in sight, harmless or otherwise. She selected her vehicle, a black Wild Wing coupe. There was no time for subtlety. Samus smashed the butt of the pistol into the window, causing an intricate web of cracks to appear. She brought it down again, this time setting off the alarm. But still the glass showed no sign of giving in, and a MSUE unit was sure to be on the way. This wasn't going to work. Breathing deeply, she approached a parked motorcycle – a sleek, late model Moonview Nitrocycle, to be exact. Looking closer, a small, silver shape was visible in the keyhole. Maybe she was luckier than she thought.

Gunfire mixed with screams resonated through the terminal as Keira exchanged fire with the airport security team. She was sure that there would have been a quiet and professional way to deal with her mistaken identity incident, but it was nowhere near as fun as her more…confrontational choice. There was an indescribable appeal to blowing someone's brains out, something about a shower of blood that was so exciting.

The fifth kill of the day contorted painfully as Keira shot out his throat.

Screaming citizens, the last of the evacuees, rushed out of the terminal, seeking refuge from the chaos. Seeing an opportunity, Keira seized a fat Toad businessman trailing behind the steady flood of hysterical citizens, raising him to head level. The airport guards ceased their barrage of fire as soon as Keira had placed the muzzle of her newly acquired Zapper to the cap of the struggling toadstool. Backing towards the automatic doors, she tightened her grip on the businessman.

"Drop your weapons."

The guards hesitated, but were decided by the pleading eyes of the Toad.

As soon as they complied, Keira pulled the trigger of her pistol, deflating the Toad's cap and obscuring the doors with green fungal matter.

Keira ran.

Samus' hands tightened on the handlebars of the stolen Nitrocycle. She was riding erratically, scraping and smashing her way through the lots with a symphony of car alarms sounding in the bike's wake.

Most of the guards had enough sense to stay out of her way so far, and her hazardous journey had not been met with any serious resistance. As soon as she had let that positive reflection slip into her mind, however, Fate stepped in to help bring her back to earth.

The first bullet embedded itself in the fuel tank, centimetres from Samus' leg.

As the bike turned sharply at the entrance to the next lot, Samus saw her assailant.

The universe really hated her.

Keira fired the second bullet, deflating the motorcycle's rear tire with an ominous hiss.

The third, fourth and fifth struck the suspension and body, paving the way for the sixth, which entered the Nitrocycle's front tire. Sparks flew from the ruined sportbike's wheels, rims coming into direct contact with the ground. As Keira had predicted, the next hastily calculated turn brought the bike up on its side, glass cracking and metal twisting. The motorbike let out a roaring death knell as the engine finally gave up, Samus launching off the sparking form of the bike and tumbling across the harsh concrete before coming to a stop in a bleeding heap. Smirking in satisfaction, Keira holstered her stolen handgun and approached Samus' unconscious form, smiling through clouded eyes and bloodstained features. Limping with her hand to her gunshot wound, the psychopathic killer knelt beside her victim, removing her bloodstained cell.

"I have her."

**-Postscript**

By the way, the acronyms used in this chapter refer to-

**UMP – **United Mushroom Presidency, the former Mushroom Kingdom.

**MSUE –** Mushroom Special Urban Enforcement, functionally SWAT.

**NEAD** – The FBI-like organisation in the UMP.

And Keira Hanne is a _terrible _pun.

'Till next time, presuming there will be one.


	3. Chapter 2 : Let The Battles Begin

**Author's Note: **Wow, this is quite a surprise. I hadn't expected to get a single review, let alone two positive ones. Perhaps I should continue this story after all. I feel a little bit uneasy about some of the character's portrayals, but I don't really think anything can be gained by delaying this chapter further. So, enjoy, anyone who might stumble across this.

**September 4****th**

**3:05 PM**

**Mushroom City, UMP**

**M.P.D HQ**

Detective Hariyoshi Hirono slumped in his seat, earphones loudly replaying one of Jiggles Puamoto's recent conversations. He was part of a specially-selected group of investigators working with the NEAD to take out the Puamoto Yakuza in Mushroom City. Unfortunately, with the overblown plans commonly put into place at the M.P.D, virtually every detective was placed in a 'specially-selected unit'. It was often said that soon there would be more committees than criminals to investigate.

Most of the department was in a panic over the recent airport shooting, with good reason-terrorism had been a public paranoia ever since the attacks on the Peach Castle six years ago, when two stolen 'Bullet Bill' missiles were used to obliterate half of the iconic landmark, not to mention that tanker incident only last month. Naturally President Sears had been criticised endlessly for the incident, with his viability as a leader questioned further by the public. However, Yoshi remained at his desk, not being among those chosen to deal with the investigation; indeed, there were several committees that had been formed to deal with that, too.

This conversation, however, was slightly more interesting than the others.

As of late, the Oyabun had taken to conducting his operations via face-to-face meeting. Whether this stemmed from the knowledge that the MPD was tapping his communications, or that he simply had trust issues with his partners, Yoshi could not tell. Either way, for the past three weeks he had been listening to nothing but innocent calls to family with the occasional call from Puamoto's unfortunately still living mother. The ninety-something bag somehow found time to call every day, shrieking at her son in deafeningly loud Kanto.

This call was totally different. It had been relayed a few minutes ago, and the tracker showed a clear Mushroom Harbor location. It was unusual for Puamoto to use his cell at all, and now this…Yoshi leaned forward to replay the call, turning up the volume on the media player.

"Jiao. You know I won't let you go through with this." The tense opening line could only come from the Oyabun's second in command, a man which the MPD knew pitifully little about.

"I'm not going to be ordered around by that smarmy fuck_._ This ends today."

"From what we've seen of this man already, you of all people should know that this is suicidal."

"Suicidal? I've been running this city for fifteen years. He's the one who should be afraid. I'll get Hopip on him-it'll probably be messier than Birdo."

"He prefers to go by Birdetta now. Not that you gave him much choice."

"Heh. See? Let's see if we can give this Master Hand a wake-up call. Come meet me here."

"Jiao, wa-"

The call ended.

Yoshi didn't know whether it was a hoax, a play to get them out in the open. It was far too dangerous in any case. The head of the committee never followed up any leads without hard evidence, and with good reason-a Puamoto trap four weeks ago nearly exposed their mole in the yakuza, Pikawa Chao. Besides, it was near-impossible to get any police attention now that terrorists had decided to attack Mushroom International.

But there were more important questions to be asked, glaringly obvious. First of all, Master Hand. That was what had troubled Yoshi most about the call. The Puamoto Yakuza had never been employed by any other gang, never subordinated. If someone had the power to bring one of the UMP's most powerful organisations under his control, how come nobody had heard of him? Was he a NRD4-level threat? The notion amused Yoshi, that someone that dangerous would be under his surveillance. Master Hand certainly wasn't an international terrorist, a spy-film villain. Most likely, he was just some power-hungry, pissed-off enforcer, who would meet his brutal demise at the hands of Jiggles's sadistic liutenant Hopip.

**Mushroom Harbor – 6:05 PM**

The sun began to set on the cloudy winter's day as Jiggles Puamoto watched from a porthole in his converted cargo ship, the _Cinnabar. _It outwardly appeared a derelict hulk, but the interior, though dilapidated, had been fitted with all the latest security enhancements. There wasn't a single room of the ship that didn't have infrared laser tripwires, security cameras, pressure pads or, for more extreme cases, tear gas dispensers. It wasn't paranoia that drove Puamoto to put in as much security as the Peach House. It was necessity, although his eccentricity probably had something to do with some of the odder systems. The ship served as a stockpile of the yakuza's weapons and drugs, and so Jiggles had every reason to protect its cargo. It helped that the ship was also where he stockpiled a large amount of his personal karaoke CDs.

Behind him, the security buzzer sounded, indicating that someone was at one of the ship's many entrances, and more importantly, that they knew where to find the buzzer. Checking the three camera feeds from outside the door, Jiggles pressed a key on his laptop and let Meta Knight enter.

He had made his way up to the bridge in a few minutes, pausing as his retinas and prints were scanned. Meta Knight was relatively new to the organisation, having joined a mere two years ago. But he certainly was no inexperienced piece of cannon fodder like 90% of all the other relatively new members. Meta Knight was well known among certain circles for his intelligence and special operations work in the Eastern Federation, the Socialist Republic of Termina and the Hylian effort to restore peace to Ordony after the attempted invasion by Gerudo armed forces.

After that he had disappeared completely, resurfacing in the late nineties as a mercenary. Following six years of highly dangerous and lucrative contracts, Jiggles had recruited him permanently. He had to keep a very loose leash on him, unlike his other employees (due to Meta Knight's paranoia, of course) which unnerved Puamoto slightly, but he had never disappointed him.

Meta Knight had seated himself next to Jiggles's laptop, while the pink sphere paced with increasing agitation.

"How are you proposing to find Master Hand in the first place, Jiao?"

"I…I've got Morris."

"Somehow, I don't think the NEAD even know Master Hand exists."

Jiggles responded with a startled '_what?'_

"Consider the man's overblown theatrics. He's almost like a singularity, drawing everything to him, bending it to his will. That shootout at the airport last month, the one that the press has been having seizures at and the government barely obscuring with lies…it was certainly his work."

Jiggles repeated his previous reply, causing Meta Knight to sigh exasperatedly and continue his exposition to the stunned Oyabun.

"You said that he was looking for fighters. Our NEAD sources, or more specifically source, tells us that a certain Nicole Bailey arrived from Onett mere minutes before the shootout occurred. It's obvious that one of the crime lords has chosen Samus Aran to be his representative for the Hand's game. I told you to be wary of what he's capable of."

"All he's got to his credit is a terrorist attack and some blackmail. I had the Rocket Mafia."

Meta Knight tapped his fingers on the laptop, frustrated.

"Everyone who was involved with Rocket is dead now, bar you. If you hadn't joined back up with your father's organisation when your scheme collapsed, you would be too. You were lucky he was so desperate for a successor."

"You…"

Jiggles never got to finish that sentence, as the lights cut out in the bridge and he jumped back with a surprised yelp.

"What the hell was that?"  
"I assume the generator's failed. Either that, or a mouse has managed to trigger off one of your traps. Again."

Jiggles breathed heavily as he rummaged through a container for a flashlight. Meta Knight heard the clangs of various objects being tossed onto the rusted metal floor. Under the short, sharp noises, a rumbling bass could also be heard. As soon as the undercurrent had stopped, Meta Knight stood, gliding off his chair and retreating to a corner of the bridge. Then, the faint squeaking of leather gloves could be heard outside the door, followed by three practically inaudible beeps. But Jiggles was oblivious to it all. He held a blindingly bright heavy-duty torch in his hands.

"I found it!"

Then the world exploded. Not with a bang, but with a whimper.

Uniformed soldiers poured from the hole that the near-silent thermite explosive rent into the reinforced door, tearing it like rice paper. In the misdirected light of Jiggles' flashlight, he could just make out their gasmasks and night-camouflage uniforms.

A combat boot raised above Jiggles, before being brought down on him with maximum force. A moment passed, and then the confused Oyabun lapsed into unconsciousness.

Jiggles Puamoto awoke with a dry mouth and a painful bruise that restricted his breathing. He was in what was immediately obvious as the armory of the ship, stacks of crates containing everything from Bob-ombs to Fire Flowers and automatic rifles, stolen- of course.

But the other occupants of the room weren't concerned about the hundreds of black-market weapons. And Jiggles shared their focus; his eyes did not register his bonds, his surroundings, even the soldiers. For in that moment, all he could see was Master Hand.

"I must advise you never to try anything like that again. It might be detrimental to your health." Master Hand was unfazed by the Oyabun's attempted rebellion, standing coldly triumphant in the same urban camouflage uniform as the rest of the soldiers. Mask removed, of course. And he just had to wear that stupid white glove of his. He looked comfortable in it, somehow more at home. The thought slid away as the smug chessmaster resumed speaking.

"But your enemy here is not me, at least not yet. I think you will be particularly interested to know that the MPD have placed a mole in your organisation. He's risen up to quite a high rank too. Sloppy work, Jiggles. I thought better of you."

"Is…is Meta…"

Jiggles's voice was a mere rasp.

"Meta Knight is in our custody. I can't let you resume contact with him until after this little game is over. Now, Jiggles, I will allow you to leave. I just have one request. Stay off the _Cinnabar _until the sixth. Unless you would like to give your life for a property loan, I'd suggest you agree."

Jiggles's look was all the confirmation Master Hand needed. Motioning towards one of his soldiers to uncuff Puamoto, he walked over to a crate and began to casually examine a small red box. Several of the soldiers expressed slight alarm, but were professional enough to not let it show.

As Jiggles headed to the door, Master Hand gave him a final message.

"Jiggles, listen to me. You never will be able to eliminate me, outsmart me or bind me in chains. So stop trying."

Puamoto made the barest inclination of a nod, fighting every instinct he had to turn around and rip the cocky, superior bastard's face off.

He turned and walked out of the room.

**September 5****th**

**11:30 AM**

**Mushroom City, U.M.P**

**Mushroom Harbor**

Keira let out a grunt of exertion as she carried the Pianta hitman though a rusted doorway. Mario Ficarotta had been captured earlier that day, shot with a tranquilizer rifle through the window of his apartment. He was, of course, the Don Salvatore's choice to compete in the first fight of Master Hand's tournament. In the three hours following Mario's capture, he had been transported to the 'arena', Jiggles's container ship docked in Mushroom Harbor, and redressed in an expensive Delfino suit. As part of the public nature of the tournament (or as public as you can get in the underworld, anyway), all of the entrants were to be wearing distinct and vibrant outfits. Keira was even sure there was some product placement involved.

Mario Ficarotta was laid out on a shining, sterile metal bed, his hands positioned under restraint. Keira laid out a weapon on the other piece of furniture in the room, an industrial table, and proceeded to retrieve other items from a duffel bag. The weapon was rather over the top, an organic, highly illegal flamethrower native to the region. The scientific name for the fatal plant was _Phosphora miyamoto, _but more casual users preferred a more self-explanatory name. Fire Flower.

Master Hand was positioned in an apartment facing the dock, the monitors lining the room showing feeds from the 50 high-definition cameras that had been placed n the ship.

"Keira, have the preparations been completed?"

"All done. The entrants have been placed and injected, and the ship is wired. I'm getting everyone out now."

"Perfect. We'll go on the air in one hour."

"Just a second. I've got one more question."

"You've been dying to say that, haven't you?"

"Yeah. Well, I was thinking that I'm going to get some credit for this too, right? And you can't exactly use my real name so…"

"Get to the point."

"I'd like some kind of codename."

"You're like a child. I'll think of something."

Keira let out the infuriatingly high squeak she called a laugh, and hung up.

Several blocks away, gloved fingers typed at rapid speeds as the MPD server was hacked into. The hacker's intent was not outright malevolent, rather manipulative. The soon-to-be attached video played in the corner of the hacker's screen in a window. Alert eyes flitted to it for a second, as the hacker weighed the consequences of this message once again. This would certainly get their attention.

**MARIO FICAROTTA VS. TRIPLE D**

The stylized lettering blazed on the video's splash screen, the well-designed promotional art depicting anime-influenced illustrations of the notorious Pianta enforcer and well-known K-Crew member in a back to back pose, weapons ready.

Anti-aliased lettering blazed across the screen, countdown evident.

Mario Ficarotta woke to a nagging pain in his wrists and ankles. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he had been captured. What was totally unexpected, however, was that he was dressed in a ridiculously expensive black silk suit, with a red tie and white shirt of equal value. Mario jerked his head around, taking in his surroundings. The rusted metallic room he was in couldn't be newer than twenty years, with flaky paint and gouged walls. The metallic bed he was being restrained on, however, was something totally different. Gleaming stainless steel offered a dramatic contrast to his dilapidated surroundings. It was like something from a sixties spy film. Only here, there was no open vent, giant laser, humorously inept guard or any other childishly obvious escape route.

A smooth, calculated voice began to speak from a hidden unit somewhere. The quality was excellent, so it couldn't have been here long.

"You have been…selected to participate in a competitive tournament. You will have one other opponent. The rules are simple. Either you will kill him, or he will kill you. It makes no difference…to me, at least. Finishing this round will allow you to progress to the next stage. If you _lose…_well, let's not get into that. The match begins in one minute. Prepare yourself, and good luck…the world _is _watching."

With a mechanical _hiss, _Mario's metallic restraints receded into the bed.

Rubbing his wrists, he slowly got up. What the hell was happening?

He had been sedated, redressed, bound and…armed?

A chipped brown pot plant lay ominously on the sole table in the room, flower bursting out of the wide rim.

It was instantly obvious what the weapon was- a Fire Flower-but it was the flower's presence here that worried Mario. Fire Flowers were expensive weapons, not in their growing, but in their genetic refinement and modification, which was necessary for them to become viable flamethrowers. Why would anyone go to that amount of trouble when they could pick up a cheap handgun from any one of hundreds of black market dealers?

He had been set up, obviously. Captured…but by whom? The Mushroom City Theatre Company? Was this a dream, some sick scenario conjured up by his subconscious?

The door slid open.

Uprooting the Fire Flower, Mario edged out into the rusted labyrinth that lay before him. No sooner had he gone a step, the electronic door slammed shut behind him, like something from a Legend of Oni game. He shuddered at the analogy. Here, there were no continues. Or cursed masks, but he'd rather not think about that. Tensely, Mario inched through the maze of containers that made up the interior. It was obvious he was inside a cargo ship. Was it in Mushroom City? He couldn't have been taken far… Out of the corner of his eye, Mario could see a ludicrous amount of cameras monitoring his every move from a plethora of angles.

'_I wonder if they're going to release a DVD of this…'_

A thunderous report sounded behind Mario, the .50AE Magnum bullet missing his tailored suit by centimeters, ruling a white-hot streak against his cheek.

He turned, glimpsing the gold-plated GMI Eagle of the man who could only be Triple-D. D and his handgun were notorious among the underworld, eliminating the enemies of K.B's empire. The handgun itself had always seemed a poor choice to Mario, but it had never failed the penguin.

Mario took cover behind an empty crate, doubtless placed for the match. His cut was a distraction, relentlessly leaking blood.

Another sonic blast rent the world in two.

Mario leant out from his cover, igniting everything between him and the squishy, blue menace that was trying to kill him.

Triple-D was running…sort of. Mario followed, racing after the colossal penguin. He couldn't let him get the advantage of higher ground.

Too late.

D was racing up a flight of metal steps, unloading his bulky gold-plated semiautomatic at the Pianta Family hitman.

It was a testament to his efficiency that every round fired seemed to end up inside the industrial set-dressing.

Leaping up the stairs two at a time, Mario aimed at the reloading penguin. Flames danced around the metal walls of the boat. Triple D ducked and weaved around the empty crates and shipping containers placed on the upper deck. Not a single lick of fire had hit its mark. Mario found himself short of breath. Exercise really wasn't his top priority anymore, as the growing paunch of his stomach showed. D rolled out from a shipping crate, the giant penguin brandishing his equally giant golden pistol.

Triple-D laughed a disgustingly hearty roar, peppered with _nyah_s of laughter.

"_Come and get me, greaseball!"_

Just as the thunderous barrage began, Mario ducked behind another pallet of doubtless empty crates.

'_Whoever designed this scenery should work for WarioWare.'_

Taking a chance, Mario dove from the disintegrating pallet, and fired a jet of white-hot flame at the penguin.

Time seemed to slow as the giant penguin caught fire, flesh and clothing blackening and withering as Triple D rolled desperately, screaming in agony.

It was over.

Panting, Mario stood.

Was it over?

He approached the bleeding, charred but no longer lit form of the penguin on the catwalk, Flower lowered.

Guard down.

As he stared mercilessly down at the dying gangster, Triple-D made one last effort.

Before Mario could react, he retrieved his –reloaded- Eagle from the rusted catwalk and pressed it against Mario's head.

Shock and self-loathing raced through Mario's mind. Here he was, about to be bested by a hip-hop stereotype with a glorified .50.

Triple-D squeezed the trigger.

The sound that followed could have been many things, but the one thing it was not was a gunshot. Triple-D stared in disbelief at his jammed pistol. It had never failed him before.

Mario snatched the Gerudo handgun from D's hands, met by little resistance.

Cocking the weapon and ejecting the jammed shell, Mario pointed the obese gangster's own weapon at his face.

The sound that followed could have been only one thing.

A gunshot.

**Postscript:  
**_**Once again, some terms used in this chapter refer to:**_

**NRD4 –** The CIA equivalent

**GMI -** Gerudo Military Industries, a firearms manufacturer

**Legend of Oni –** Long-running RPG series from WarioWare, basically a mix between _Final Fantasy VII, Majora's Mask _and_ Devil May Cry._


	4. Chapter 3 : Enclosure

_**Enclosure**_

**September 5****th**

**12:30 PM**

**Mushroom City, U.M.P**

**Mushroom Harbor**

The wailing orchestra that had been accompanying the fight crescendoed before cutting off, framing the bloody confrontation that Yoshi had just witnessed as something far more palatable. The fight had gone as predicted, the experienced hitman disposing of K.B's cocky penguin.

Staring out of the cruiser's windscreen, he could see that they were almost there. The fight had taken place on the _Cinnabar,_ a container ship belonging to a mysterious corporation with holding accounts in the Caribbean. The enthusiastic Dreamlander driving the cruiser turned sharply at an intersection, narrowly missing a UnEx van.

"Try not to get us killed!"

The Dreamlander turned to Yoshi as if he was in a trance.

"Huh?"

If Yoshi didn't know better, he'd say that his driver had stolen a few Poison Mushrooms from an evidence locker.

As fortune would have it, the suicidal Dreamlander was leading several police vehicles through the negligible 12:30 PM traffic, drawing the ire of many motorists. Yoshi regretted not being able to pull over the owners of each shaken fist and shouted obscenity and take them into custody (or perhaps do worse), but there were more pressing matters at hand. The cruiser came to a skidding halt in front of the dock gate, gouging its paintwork on the ancient metal. The other cruiser and the MSUE vans followed suit, trying their best not to collide with the awkwardly placed cruiser.

To the astonishment of the bored dock workers, a uniformed MSUE team erupted from the van, heading towards the tanker with Yoshi in tow. Trailing behind the squadron of shell-armoured commandoes, Yoshi noticed piles of ripped out electronics lying next to the –already open- door.

The operatives' laser sights swept around the dilapidated tanker interior. Yoshi cautiously made his way through each doorway, hearing the echoes of the MSUE team shouting out suitably militaristic affirmations at every turn.

For some reason, he kept on thinking about the UnEx van he was nearly blended into a few minutes ago. Perhaps that was how near-death experiences worked?

No…that wasn't it.

United Express didn't make deliveries at twelve-thirty.

The realization slid off Yoshi's mind as he heard an officer call out from the end of the hallway. Quickening his pace, Yoshi made his way through the poorly lit passage. Stepping through the frame, his eyes were hit by bright, fluorescent blue light. This room was in complete contrast to the hallway before it, harsh illumination eradicating every shadow. But of immediate interest to the unwelcome visitors was a small, inanimate box that lay in the centre of the room, its lid ajar. The MSUE team kept their HyperScope rifles at eye level while Yoshi approached their acting commander.

"Have you opened it?"

"Yes. And I hope it isn't what I think it is…"

"That line's almost as damaging to our life expectancy as showing a family photo. What do you think it is, then?"

"It's probably a bomb. Judging by the shape, a Bob-Omb. If it's all they've left here, probably a Delfino-make Bob-Omb. There's probably nothing there, just…"

"If there's even the slightest chance…We have to get the bomb squad out!"

"Of course, it could be anything. I only saw the back of the _alleged _Bob-o…"

An agitated MSUE Koopa turned to face the indecisive duo.

"Do something, for Rosalina's sake! You can't just stand there!"

"Calm down. There's very little chance that any group would have the funds to…"

At that moment, an officer lowered his rifle, knocking the box to the ground. Everyone in the room jumped backwards, bracing for a detonation.

Nothing happened.

Slowly, torturously, a small black ball rolled out from the box. It was unmistakable.

A smooth, half-spherical, metallic body, full of ultra-efficient high explosive putty. A gleaming, brass knob glittering atop it. A crisp LED screen.

Counting down.

Crazy Hand was enjoying herself far too much. The MSUE team had only just found the surprise. Of course, it wouldn't have mattered when they found it, as the countdown was just for show. In fact, the explosives wired to the ship were remote-controlled. She would ensure that the team got tantalizingly close to escaping, and then blow the ship out of the water. This video footage would probably make a very enjoyable special feature on the _Super Smash Bros._ DVD. Season One of course, with a winning formula like this one; there was no limit to the kinds of fighters Master Hand could recruit. Not many people could say that their jobs were this entertaining, or profitable.

The dock workers who were astonished at the MSUE team's mere presence couldn't quite work out their emotions as the same team ran across the ship, desperately trying to escape.

At a corner table in the newest restaurant spawned by the celebrity chef Kawasaki, a thin, white-gloved hand hit a single key on her laptop.

The effect was instantaneous. A tongue of flame erupted from the centre of the tanker, accompanied by the dying groans of aged metal. Resulting explosions followed the first, consuming the ship with ever-increasing lust, as the Puamoto yakuza's stockpile of explosives, guns, drugs and KK Slider CDs fed the fire. The MSUE team was being rapidly decimated: burnt, crushed and suffocated. Yoshi heaved himself off the railing, limbs leaden but the fire licking at his tail providing stronger motivation. The fall was entirely without sensation, Yoshi's mind constricted by pain. The solid concrete ground of the docks halted his motion, breaking bones, blood erupting onto every visible surface. As darkness enveloped Hariyoshi, his eyes firmly fixated themselves on the funeral pyre of the _Cinnabar_.

**September 10****th**

**2:10 AM**

Samus' eyes darted around the tiny cell she was imprisoned in.

The walls were gleaming metal, illuminated by the searing fluorescent light in the centre of the room. The door was electronic, or so she assumed, as there was no lock mechanism visible. Her cuts had been sewn and bandaged tightly, but her captors hadn't thought to restrain her in any way. A cotton swab was attached to her right arm. Rubbing it, the skin felt slightly tender. A drip?

It was freezing in the cell, three-degree, refrigerated air circulating through unseen vents. Below her, the floor shuddered slightly. Pausing, Samus listened closer.

It was regular, every few seconds.

As her dazed mind processed that piece of information, the door beeped sharply and a uniformed guard walked in. Behind him was another electronic door, forming some kind of airlock structure, probably designed to create two layers of security.

He said nothing, dumping a small container in front of her.

Samus let him leave, watching his blurred shape depart.

She began to open the container, being stopped by an acrid odour emanating from it.

Trying not to breathe in with her nose, she opened the container to reveal the foul-smelling package. A half-rotten Cheep Cheep. Was this someone's idea of a joke?

Perhaps they actually intended for her to eat it. Well, she wasn't going to give them the pleasure. Samus set down the metal container, pulling at the lid. It came off, fastened to the rest of the can by a sliver of metal. She set to work.

One thing that she knew about any sort of prison guards, whether they be guarding holding cells, state prisons or makeshift hostage camps, was that they tended to rely a little too much on the element of fear. If the roles were apparently reversed between hostage and captor, they would be disoriented and, if she was lucky, terrified.

Her chance came three hours, twenty seven minutes and forty seconds later.

From what she had heard outside over the strange, regular shuddering, the guards were changed one hour, forty five minutes and three seconds ago. He wouldn't be too alert. And, as if on cue, the guard lazily walked into Samus' cell, holding another can of what was most likely another half-rotten meal. He contorted his lips in what was clearly supposed to be a smirk as he set the container down.

As he turned to leave, he was distracted by the rotting carcass of the fish taking up space in the corner of the cell. Disgusted, he began to approach the Cheep Cheep, holding his gloved hand as far away from himself as possible. Then, Samus struck.

The guard felt cold metal on his throat, freezing. He couldn't go for his weapons, because of the obvious danger to his throat. Unless wetting himself was part of a complicated strategy, it was safe to say that the guard was petrified.

"Draw your weapon." Samus' clear, demanding tone persuaded the guard to do just that, shaking violently.  
"Throw it into the corner…yes, like that. Good boy."

The CDF submachine gun clattered loudly a sit made contact with the quivering floor. Samus reached down with her free hand, withdrawing the guard's handgun from a hip holster. It was also of CDF-make, a compensated M92 semi-automatic. Both weapons, and indeed most weapons manufactured for the Cornerian Defense Force, were high quality Toad designs-Benito and Slippy Toad's corporation, not the species.

Not only were these guns high-performance, but outclassed most competitors in the price department as well. Despite the weapons being classified as official service guns of Corneria, only one half of the country's military had adopted them. Then, there were the mercenaries…

"Where are we now?"

"On a train…still in the UMP."

"What do you mean, still?"

"Well, that we haven't left yet." An iota of defiance was creeping into the guard's voice. Samus pressed the compensated M9 into his back, returning his voice to its original quivering pitch.

"The next event…it's in Onett. After that we leave the country."

"To where?"

"I don't know yet!"

Hmmm…better try interrogating him on something else. None of this was making any sense, and it was quite possible that he was spouting garbage. Time to try a more direct question.

"Who are you working for, Linebeck?"

"Huh? No."

"Then who?"

"Keira Hanne."

That really didn't make any sense. Keira was a psycho for hire, just another assassin, albeit not a very efficient one. Although she was definitely involved in all this-she captured Samus in the first place- Keira didn't have the intelligence or patience to run an operation like this. Hell, if it was up to her she would have given all the guards flamethrowers and told them to roast the prisoners slowly. No, this wasn't Keira. But she had gotten all she could from this guard. Samus dropped the handgun and her completely harmless, misshapen piece of container lid, and broke the guard's neck.

She managed to catch him as he fell, dulling the impact.

If anyone was watching the corridors, they would have gotten very suspicious.

She had to work fast. She removed her own hideous prisoner's uniform, which mainly just consisted of giant, formless denim _things_ approximating the shape of clothes, both equally bloodstained and looking as if they were stolen straight from a gulag. Thank God they had let her keep her underwear.

The guard's uniform was incredibly loose, and Samus had to be creative in her padding out of it, using the torn rags of the prison clothes. She really had to tell her captors to revise their tastes in fashion. Eventually, she had gotten the uniform on in a manner approximating the guard, with the CDF handgun in a holster and the Toad SMG strapped across her arm. She covered up the guard in her bedsheet-really just a threadbare white cloth. It wouldn't stand up to any inspection, but it was better than having an underwear-clad corpse on the floor of her cell.

Samus exited the carriage, scanning for other guards. There were none. She began to walk along the corridor, passing by the cells. Outside the windows, a rain-streaked landscape flashed by, punctuated every so often with the roar of thunder. So they were on a train, then. All the cells were empty- bar one. As Samus neared the second-last cell, she could clearly discern snoring from the background hum of the ventilation. She swiped the first keycard to open the door, stepping into the airlock-like space. Obviously, all the cells were built the same way. As Samus swiped the second card, she heard the first door hiss as it closed, while the second opened. It seemed that the prisoner was also dressed in the same unsightly 'outfit', although at least his weren't stained with blood. Although she couldn't see his face, his bright shock of bluish purple hair gave away his identity instantly.

Ike Grelovich.

She had been working with him before taking on Linebeck's trap assignment that had gotten her into this mess. It had been an ongoing effort, and at times it was life-threatening, but the rewards were more than worth the danger. Certainly one of the Grelovich Mercenaries' biggest jobs…

But she didn't know what Ike could possibly be doing here.

It looked like she wasn't going to find out.

As Samus turned, she saw the laser sights of three guards' SMGs on her.

It was pointless to resist. They marched her single-file down the narrow corridor.

The cells had definitely had camera monitors, and she had been too dazed, too drugged, or too wrapped up in her own pseudo-ingenuity to notice. Maybe all three.

As the cards were swiped to allow entry to the cell, one guard motioned to enter the airlock with her. After the first door closed, she delivered a sharp kick to her captor's knee with the guard's steel-toed boot. Moving with lightning speed, Samus grabbed his handgun from the hip holster and followed up her attack with a 9mm bullet to his forehead.

The back of the guard's head blew out all over the wall, pink mist caking the doors.

As the door opened Samus took cover next to the door, in a prime position to shoot the other two guards.

They charged wildly into the room waving around their submachine guns in adrenaline-induced hyperactivity. They both fell to the ground in sickening symmetry amid the jets of blood emanating from their hearts. It was all rather messy, but after years of doing what she did, almost nothing that Samus saw disgusted her anymore. It wasn't coincidental that what did always seemed to be the handiwork of Keira Hanne.

Samus, back to the wall, snaked along the carriage, alert for guards at both sides of the carriage. None came. She stepped into the divider between carriages, the Toad SMG in front of her. The next carriage was more open than the previous one, in that all of it seemed to be in the one space, without rooms or corridors. It was also stacked high with electronically-locked metal storage boxes, clearly marked with labels like 'FRAGILE/HD C.' 'AMMUNITION 9X19MM' and 'COSTUMES'.

_Wait…Costumes?_

What the weak-bladdered guard had said to Samus immediately flashed back.

An event. What event would require armed guards, hostage participants and crates of costumes and ammunition?

There was no time to answer that question, as Keira Hanne herself strode in front of Samus, out from behind a crate marked with the near-universal symbol for 'high explosive'.

No, she wasn't coming out from behind it…She was wheeling it along.

Clever. Well, clever for Hanne, anyway, so the cliché could be excused in part.

"Unexpected, Aran. I thought you'd stay in your cell like that Gallian and be a good girl. I was wrong. Figures…"

Keira' tasteless, high laugh resounded through the carriage like a demonic schoolgirl's shriek. Samus adjusted for the crate, and her brain issued the command to squeeze the trigger, but no action came. Panicked, she tried to move something, anything. Her body was not obeying her, instead content to lie in statuesque repose. Waving a finger, Hanne calmly strode up to her and prised the semi-automatic out of her grip.

"Naughty, naughty."

Her senses were being poisoned, being corrupted, by something she didn't comprehend. But two things were very, very clear. The first was the pain. The pain, blistering and ruthless, ravaging her interior like an ungodly spiked serpent, the form of darkness embodied. The second was the…blue? Blue, yes. Blue. Blue, and…

**September 11****th**

**3:10 PM**

**Mushroom City, UMP**

**Private Airstrip**

Master Hand's charcoal trenchcoat billowed dramatically in the wind generated by the Lear's engines. He stood on the bland concrete stretch of his private airstrip, the Mushroom City skyline rising into the clouds in the distance.

From what Keira had reported, there had been a disaster on board the train in the early morning. Of course, she didn't think of it that way. Four dead guards and a very nearly escaped and very pissed-off Samus Aran were probably her idea of fun.

At least nothing disruptive or fatal had happened to Grelovich.

Sighing, the middle-aged Hylian entered the jet, motioning for his pilot to begin taxiing. Onett would have to be well-organised, lest _they _decide that it would be preferable for him to expire before his use-by date. And that couldn't happen.

He couldn't let Keira, or Crazy Hand as she now preferred, leave behind another sunken ship and another horribly burnt MSUE team. But she was still useful.

There was no way that he could have captured Samus and Mario without Keira' assistance. Meta Knight would have been the ideal choice, but he was not constantly available, as his other assignment with the NEAD took up the majority of his time. So Keira would have to live. Time to tighten her leash.

**Einenuppe Hospital – 4:30 PM**

In the IC of the Einenuppe Hospital, Hariyoshi Hirono was strapped, bandaged beyond comfort and recognition, and barely able to speak. The 'trained medical professionals' had decided that the best way to preserve what little health he had before his surgery was to mummify him and pump half of Rogueport into him.

Yoshi didn't agree with them, but they knew better, or at least they'd like to think so.

The door shuddered, and Yoshi struggled to lift his head to see his visitor.

Briefly, he managed to get his head on an angle. A sharp wave of pain whipped through his body, and he dropped his head down once more. The door bulged once again. Who was this guy, a sumo wrestler? The door smashed open, its assailant staggering a few steps then walking into Yoshi's cone of vision.

He couldn't believe it.

The Koopa known as Bowser was a hulking dinosaur, and would be the subject of dozens of steroid jokes if not for his position as the MSUE commander. On the day of the _Cinnabar _disaster, he had been out of town, and so been spared terrible injuries and possibly death. Bowser himself had been considered something of a villain until around 2003, when after a long career of criminal acts and terrorism; he had made the decision to join the Mushroom intelligence services as a mole in the group he had formerly been part of. The gambit paid off, and on the tenth of December 2003, Bowser was able to prevent a nuclear explosion in a power plant off Route 8-6, where the daughter of Senator Toadsworth, Peach, had been held hostage. After that, after a four-year period of intense distrust and government scanning, he had been almost fully integrated into the UMP, now using his considerable experience to command the MSUE. It was something of a common quip that he was now playing tennis with the people who had once been devoting their lives to killing him. Personally, Yoshi still didn't trust him, and felt that it was suspicious that such a brutal creature had been accepted with open arms.

"What happened?" The question was short, sharp and offered no room for manoeuvre.

"A bomb…the tanker sunk. I don't know how many are dead-I've got no way of finding out when I'm stuck here."

Bowser nodded, as if approving Yoshi's story. There had been no reason for him to lie, but he assumed that it was just habit for the Koopa.

"There were eleven dead MSUE officers, two survivors. The bomb was a plastic explosive, specifically a Delfino-made Bob-Omb, and judging from the fact it was triggered as soon as you tried to escape…triggered remotely."

"But they were screaming something about a countdown…"

"Smoke and mirrors. Do you have anything else to tell me?"

"Where are you going, _Lord Koopa_?"

The silence hung in the air like a dead weight as Bowser glared at-no, through Yoshi, and his giant hands trembled soundlessly with rage. Then in an instant, it was over, and Bowser turned his back.

"Paperwork."

Yoshi broke into a cold sweat, and stared fearfully at the door for a quarter-hour after the hulking Koopa had left. He didn't care what kind of show that man put up; for a second, just one second, Yoshi had seen his true face. And it terrified him.

**Seren Tower, Onett – 7:00 PM**

The Seren Tower is slated to be one of the bright stars of the urban Onett landscape. With an estimated completion time of thirteen months, interest in the 400m skyscraper is mounting. Once finished, it will contain a shopping centre, apartments, office space, conference rooms, restaurants and even a ballroom, as well as the world's third-tallest observation deck.

Several public-interest groups declared that the tower, as well as the recent high-rise development in the formerly-small town were ruining Onett's atmosphere. At any rate, Crazy Hand did not care.

For four days, the construction company had agreed to give 'government safety inspectors' unrestricted access to the 79-floor tower. In that time, Master Hand had already taken over the surveillance network of the entire building.

The train had come in at six o'clock, and the tranquilised Samus Aran and Ike Grelovich had been brought to the tower in relatively inconspicuous government-style vans, and then taken to the office space in the one working service elevator. Master Hand had chosen one particular office for the tournament. It was almost complete, a cubicle-ridden 66th floor office designed for WarioWare .retro, the Onett-based branch of the popular software developer. He had also arranged to procure each fighter's unique weapon-as their identity and recognition in the underworld was based on their personal weapon as well as their dress, manner and voice. Ike was fairly easy, procuring his trademark sword, Ragnell, was as easy as infiltrating the Grelovich Mercenaries' armory. Samus' equipment was harder. Her rare trademark suit of powered armor, the Varia Suit, was a highly sophisticated piece of technology of unknown origins, possessing a modular layout, unrivalled protection against firearms and a prototype energy cannon. It was also impossible to find, even with Master Hand's connections. Bank accounts of Mushroom City's richest crime bosses? Sure. Helicopters, planes and trains available at a moment's notice? Check. Clearing out Onett's largest and most expensive skyscraper for four days? No problem.

But one suit of powered armour? Definitely not.

They had come to a compromise, seeing as most people who knew the Varia Suit well enough to distinguish it from a modified PED suit were already dead.

Said uniform was procured, once again, by Master Hand's contacts.

P.E.D armour was a relatively new concept, with the first field-ready P.E.D suits going into service in the Eastern Federation as early as November last year. They were designed and produced in small numbers by ArmsTech, a generically named but exceedingly capable defense contractor. According to rumours, the global Galactic Energy Corporation had a stake in the project, though nobody could explain why. While it hadn't been made exactly clear what the P.E.D acronym stood for, or what exactly made the suits so special (mainly due to the notoriously tight lid the EF kept on its technology) the EF's most elite units enthusiastically adopted the armour, leading to the conclusion that it must be doing something right.

Nevertheless, all that mattered was that Master Hand knew the value of the armour, and more importantly could make it vaguely resemble Aran's signature Varia Suit.

The hardest modification that had to be made was merely removing the oversized glowing chestplate and adding the mercenary's signature bulky shoulderpads.

The props were taken care of. The actors in their place.

Now all this set needed was a director.


End file.
